


Sometimes, Noah Worries About His Son. (Right, well - more than sometimes. It's a Dad thing.)

by CescaLR



Series: The Time After Everything (Season 4 AU) [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (but in this verse he doesn't need to so don't worry too much it's just, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Family Feels, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, I think?, I'm Bad At Tagging, Light Angst, Minor Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate, Noah's worried, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Child Abuse, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is Noah, Stiles uses far too much Adderall, Stiles' dad not knowing stuff as per usual), Stilinski Family Feels, Substance Abuse, Swearing, Tate family angst, Uhm, and, and doesn't eat, and her dad, and thus Claudia, as a conversation topic, as in, as well I think, coolio, he knows jack shit, hmm, i think, mention of Malia's dead family, since he wasn't present for the Intervention, think that's it, though more, too little Anxiety medication, vague references to - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 15:34:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10856904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CescaLR/pseuds/CescaLR
Summary: Noah knows there's something not quite right with Stiles these days. Knows, with a harsh certainty, that he... changed, after - well, due, to the Nogitsune. And the Sheriff knows that this is to be expected, he'd just wished he hadn't changed in the ways he has.And so, Noah worries. As a father would (and should) do.





	Sometimes, Noah Worries About His Son. (Right, well - more than sometimes. It's a Dad thing.)

**Author's Note:**

> Note that the sheriff thinks stiles is not eating for reasons that aren't true. Stiles doesn't eat in this 'verse because he doesn't need to, the body he's in is a clone of his old one and is supernaturally made, he uses the energy given by taking pain as a kind of 'food'. He can eat, sure, but he doesn't need to. Warning for that. Also there's talk of death and Malia's at the time believed to be accidental manslaughter of her family, and Noah vaguely referencing Stiles' mother and the thing she did that time on the roof and might very well have done at other times when Mr. Stilinski wasn't present. Okay, think that's it, on with the story.

When Stiles was younger, a pre-teen, and Noah was a consistent drinker, the Sheriff never knew exactly where he was, or what he was doing. At the time, he hadn't exactly been the best Dad, and he knows this. Knows it like he now knows of the supernatural; a cold, hard, fact - that hurts, hurts a serious amount. Because, well, Noah's the Sheriff. If anything, he should be a good Dad, a good influence, right?

Apparently not. Considering what he can gather of McCall, perhaps it's something to do with their career path - the drinking when they shouldn't and doing things that they regret. 

However. Stiles...

Noah had figured their relationship irreparable after his stint with Alcoholism (or close enough to it that the difference didn't matter with the law, and wasn't it a bad thing that it was the threat of losing his job that got him to stop, not the issue of his young, impressionable, grieving son?) yet, it was, it was fixed and it took a year or so but they were back to being a family, even if it wasn't one quite as whole as the Stilinskis once were. 

But then, then came sophomore year. Scott suddenly lost his Asthma, Stiles started being more sketchy than he'd ever been; showing up at more and more vicious and serious crime scenes, hiding things from Noah - at one point, the Sheriff had panicked enough to wonder if his son was in a  _gang,_ because  _something_ was going on that was bad enough that Stiles had to lie to his face, and looking back, the lies were good enough to fool him. Not into thinking he wasn't lying, except that one time at the gay club, but into completely missing the mark. 

Noah worries about that too. About how he can so easily hide things, despite his low ability at lying to people who know him well enough. 

So yes. Sophomore year got the Sheriff wondering if their relationship had truly been damaged in ways that couldn't be seen until the circumstances were so far out of his control that it was nowhere near funny.

And the following months showed that exactly. It wasn't until he was captured that he even considered believing his son, taking his word as the truth, because he'd been lied to for so long, so long - but that shouldn't matter, right? Yes, Stiles should have given him proof, but he'd tried before the poor girl fainted, and Noah didn't even think about it again until he was in the basement with Melissa and Argent. Yet, Noah isn't certain that either of them was in the wrong, at the same time as wondering which of them might have been. 

So yes. Sophomore year and part of Junior year, the Sheriff had been so far into the dark of things that the light near blinded him when the truth was shoved into his face. It took him a few weeks to start dealing, delving into old cases with new eyes, and then a girl was saved.

The same girl eating breakfast with his son in the kitchen. Noah isn't sure when she found him, or when they got back, but at least it means this worry can be checked off the list.

When Noah enters the kitchen for some of his own food, he frowns at Stiles' lack of any. Walking over to the cupboard for some bread (he feels like a sandwich... though Stiles will probably force salad on there somewhere if he tries for bacon and Noah knows Malia will assist him) "When'd you get back?" he asks conversationally, and there - Stiles already knew he was here; his son didn't jump, slightly, as he would if caught off guard. 

Noah's noticed some things that are... off, about his son, since the nogitsune. They're not the kind of 'off' that he had been expecting - not exactly. The guilt was there, he'd seen it in the way Stiles tried to be perfectly normal for his friends, seen it in the way Allison was a word that was practically non-existent in his vocabulary, and what Stiles would call the irrational (but Noah thinks is entirely rational) fear of not being himself is obvious if you know what you're looking for. 

Noah isn't sure his friends know. The sheriff sometimes thinks that, since they can smell chemosignals and hear heartbeats, they forget about everything else you should look out for. 

(Because, if he knows his son, and he does, he knows that Stiles would have found a way to keep his heartbeat steady by now. Out of a need for privacy, if nothing else. But it's likely a wish to be able to lie, if needed. Noah isn't sure that's a reason he is comfortable with.)

But regardless of what he'd expected, there were still other, more worrying things that need to be addressed. Because he knows for a fact that Stiles isn't eating at home, and from what he's aware of, when he goes out with Malia she's the reason the food bill looks more like it's for two. 

"Earlier this morning," Stiles says, answering Noah's question in a vague way the Sheriff is more than used to. Earlier this morning could mean any time from midnight to a few minutes ago, and Stiles is very much aware of that, Noah knows. 

"Have you slept? Eaten?" he asks the two, who agree in differing ways. "Yeah." Stiles nods, but to which question? Malia hums an affirmation through a mouthful of bacon, takes a swig of juice and stares holes into his son's head with intent. There's a story there, Noah can tell. Stiles shifts, restless as always but in a more nervous way than usual. That can mean a few things for his son; he's not taking his medication properly, which has happened a few times over the years and much more often nowadays, due to the serious amount of... well, due to the supernatural ridiculousness that happens pretty much every second of every day for these kids. Another possibility is guilt; Noah thinks that might be more likely but he's not certain since the final choice is that he simply is just nervous. His son might be a bit complicated for most to read, but Noah's had a long seventeen years doing this - give or take a few due to his own bad choices, and leave out a few months, maybe, due to Stiles' lies.

(Noah still doesn't know the full picture. He wants to, but yet he's not sure if he really does, or if Stiles even wants him to understand in the first place.) 

Stiles shrugs a glance over to Malia, who huffs and rolls her eyes, takes a bite of a pancake. 

The conversation continues, Noah thinks, still completely and utterly unaware of the content or context. 

"Where'd you go?" He asks instead, grabs the bacon to fry, and at Stiles' narrowed look sighs and grabs the salad bits from the fridge. Quickly making a less appetising sandwich than planned, Noah sits at the counter island. Stiles taps incessantly on the table, drops from his perch and takes a seat next to Malia. Taking this as him preparing, the Sheriff waits for his son's answer.

You've got to give Stiles time. Push, and he pushes back, and in the end, you'll get nowhere. Let him talk, and he'll tell you everything.

Even if he doesn't trust you. Perhaps especially then; Noah thinks Stiles would like to not care one single bit about what someone thinks of him, not care even the slightest about what happens to that person considering the amount of worry and, Noah knows, fear he has for his friends and what they think of him, at all times in all ways. The Sheriff thinks that might be exhausting, but he wouldn't know.

Noah thinks that's part and parcel of Stiles' anxiety, however, and has never said anything Stiles wouldn't want him to regarding it, as far as he's aware of. 

"I went to the preserve," Stiles says. "Drove around for a bit, I think, then ditched my car at the entrance and  _went for a walk."_ Stiles scoffs, as if that should seem ridiculous. Malia sighs, slightly, shifts, and Noah knows this to be more lies. Well, _partial_ lies. Lies and omissions are his son's language, these days, it seems. Noah gives him credit that it's well crafted, at least. He's not exactly pleased that his son is getting better at lying, but if it saves his life one of these days, Noah won't complain.

"I found him at the nemeton." She says, readily, and Stiles shifts but if he reacted beyond that Noah missed it. "In the cellar." She adds, and Stiles does react then, cautious; preparing, Noah knows that as he feels a spike of worry at this information because the last time he'd been in that root cellar the place was collapsing in on itself. Stiles' eyes shift to the corner of the room, and Noah follows their line. Sees the aluminium bat, and sighs, because his son gets into far too much trouble for the Sheriff's liking. 

"I'm glad you got back safe." He says, safely, to the two almost-adults in front of him. And isn't that a weird thought? His son is seventeen, yes, but he's going to be eighteen soon enough. It's strange to know, is all, that your child is no longer a child. 

Malia offers a smile and polishes off her pancakes, finishes her glass of juice. Stiles drops off the stool, and Noah lets slip, "Aren't you eating?" before he can stop himself, because he worries, he does, and he always will. 

Stiles stops, hesitates, and Noah knows the answer is 'no.'

"You should." He says instead of  _you have to in order to survive, are you trying to starve yourself?_ as that screams in his head, worried and scared and ultimately,  _protective,_ since this is  _his son,_ and he's, as far as Noah's aware,  _not eating._

"I-" Stiles starts, stops, fidgets with guilty nerves. Noah knows stiles was changed by the Nogitsune, he does - and this is one of the ways which worries him. One of the ones he didn't expect.

Malia grunts out an annoyed sound, frustrated and final, and says "He doesn't need to." blunt and, as far as Noah can tell, truthful - but he can't read her as well as the rest; too blunt but too flat, characteristics more animal than girl, and he doesn't know what to make of her half the time. His son met Malia in a mental institution, properly (but not for the first time), and Noah isn't sure what he thinks of that. 

Since he's no idea what they got up to in there, and nor does anyone else. No idea what happened to them. Why when Stiles left, he wasn't Stiles any longer. 

(Noah really needs to make sure he cancelled Stiles' admittance into that place.)

"Malia," Stiles says, not exactly reprimanding, more... resigned, Noah thinks. The kind of tone you might have when someone says or does something for you that you don't want them to, but you're powerless to stop them and you know it.

Perhaps a bit dramatic, but he never claimed his son wasn't slightly over the top sometimes. 

"What do you mean." He demands of Malia, knowing full well Stiles won't answer but Malia might, and he needs some answers. 

"He doesn't need to eat." She says, slowly, as if Noah's rather stupid. He understands that the sentence is an obvious, simple thing, but the meaning behind it is hard to comprehend. And since the girl is still learning how to be human, and Stiles just shot her a reprimanding look, Noah lets the way she repeated herself go. 

"I get that." The sheriff says, dry. "Let me rephrase it.  _Why doesn't he need to eat food?"_ Noah asks, not quite polite enough to not be demanding, and Stiles reluctantly drops down onto the stool he'd left earlier. 

"This body isn't mine," Stiles says, and Noah doesn't interrupt him, following his own rules for dealing with his son when the teen is reluctant to tell people something. Continuing, Stiles breathes. "When I separated from  _Him,_ I didn't get my old body," he explains. "I got vomited up in a pile of bandages dressed like the previous host and the manifestation of the Nogitsune within my mind."

Ah. Noah adds that to the list (Worryingly long, growing list) of Mental scars his son at least _might_ have. 

(There are ones on there that not even Stiles knows about. From a night at the hospital when things truly started going sour, at least as far as Noah knows. Since Stiles hadn't been able to remember enough to tell him if  _it_ had happened before.

Noah has always felt stupid about that. Ignorant because of fears of being like his own piss-poor father, he stood by enough for his wife to do it for him.)

Stiles carries on, and Noah knows he must not have looked like he was concentrating then.

"That wasn't fun," Stiles says drily, not trying to lift the mood but rather trying to convey how he'd felt, without actually having to say it, and saying it in a way some might take for dark humour. His son was good at that, far more so than he should be for a seventeen-year-old.

"So, that happened, but it ended up having some side effects that only really came into being after he was removed and put in a box." Stiles shrugged. "I didn't really know what was going on until a couple weeks later since I was more concentrating on the funerals, self-pity, and a few other things." Malia softened, then, slightly, and Noah knew that back then she was even less empathetic than now. She was getting better, from what Noah'd heard, but since Stiles had been so distracted he hadn't really had much of his time dedicated to helping her as he knew his son would have liked - at least, as far as Noah's aware. 

"It basically means that this body doesn't need sustenance the way normal ones do. The body being a magically made clone that rose up out of the floor when it shouldn't have been able to do so."

Stiles shrugged. Noah frowned, slightly. "So it doesn't need sustenance?" Noah kept the clinical third-person view of Stiles' new body (and wasn't that a weird thought?) because Stiles himself did so; Noah figured it was Stiles' current way of dealing with the fact that the body he has now isn't the one he had before. The sheriff knows that would screw with his brain, he can't imagine how much it twists his son's.

Malia flicked her eyes over to Stiles; it looked as if she'd decided that she'd done her part, now, and the rest was up to his son. 

"No, doesn't seem so," Stiles says. "Not in the same way." He repeats, then clarifies; "If I don't get any it won't kill me, but I look healthier and... yeah, I feel a bit less off if I do." Noah noted and filed that Stiles avoided 'feel better' like he avoided all things that worried him; Stiles had a habit of ignoring problems until they go away when they're about himself. The sheriff would like to avoid that situation this time if at all possible. 

"So what do - does your body require instead?" Noah asked, haltingly, hoping the phrasing wouldn't be taken the wrong way. Stiles shrugged, so Noah took that it was fine. Stiles appears like he's avoiding answering, but Malia doesn't seem like she wants to let him. The teen looks at his son, stares until he looks back, and sighs, and nods. She inclines her head, satisfied, then puts her arm on the table, flat and easily visible - like she's preparing for a demonstration. 

Noah isn't sure he likes where this is going. 

Stiles looks conflicted, but for some reason or another Noah can't quite grasp what he's feeling from his expression, his current body language, so the Sheriff simply waits, watches. Wonders. 

Stiles seems to gather up some form of courage as he cautiously places his hand over Malia's. Nothing happens for a moment, but then the tension leaves his son's shoulder's and Malia's eyes. Stark, black veins spread down what he can see of Malia's arm; they fade into view and seemingly travel downwards, towards where her hand is linked with his son's. The veins travel somehow through their grip, and up Stiles' arm, fading out of sight at the same point as they faded into existence onto Malia's arm. Stiles appears to try and pull away, but Malia's grip tightens, and Noah wonders what the fuck, (and he doesn't swear often so you can tell he's absolutely amazed, the literal definition of such; 'causing great surprise or wonder; astonishing.' the _dictionary definition_ of amazed) what the hell is going on. 

After a few seconds of gathering composure, Noah nods, adds this to the list as a possible  _maybe_ thing to worry about, and says. "Okay. So, what exactly is...?" 

He can't quite bring himself to say  _what is it you're feeding on?_ because that's what's happening, and he knows it, but it's just too... much, Noah thinks, and he thinks Stiles has the same feeling about it. 

"Pain," Malia says. Now that,  _that,_ that is something he's not, vehemently  _not_ a fan of. 

Stiles grimaces, looks away, but the girl has her full strength in that grip and he can't leave, can't run. Noah is, in part, glad of that. 

Stiles  _looks_ at Malia.  _'Seriously?'_ His expression seems to say, but Noah can't read her returned one. Stiles slumps, a little, at it, relents and she smiles; a small thing, easily missable if you weren't looking. 

Stiles seems like he wants to say something, but isn't sure what to say. Noah had hoped they'd gotten past this, at some point in the last months - he hates to think that it might have only gotten  _worse._

 "It's not a bad thing," Malia says, out of the blue and Noah wonders why she does this sometimes. "It helps." Is all she adds as an explanation, and Noah understands, immediately - because the girl never got any psychiatric help, doesn't know it isn't good for you to have pain that should be there and should be dealt with in a healthy manner removed from you entirely. 

"I killed my family." She says, steady, staring at him as if daring,  _daring_ the sheriff to judge. Stiles doesn't, of course he doesn't - his eyes are sympathetic and his grip - lax before, unwilling - tightens a little, the veins blacken and she straightens. Noah's not sure what he just took, but he still doesn't like it. 

"During a full moon and I couldn't control it, not even a little - my first full moon. Stuck eight or so years as a coyote, no human brain with which to process guilt and fear and pain and unable to grieve, I never could deal with it." She continues, steady - perhaps unwilling, perhaps willing - perhaps, even - Noah thinks - making a point.

"Then I'm back. And it all floods to the centre, forefront, and I just want it gone, I want to be a coyote again because it was easier, not having to look my dad in the face and say  _I took our family away, dad, can you still love me?_ "

Her face is calm - her eyes are not. Noah knows to look at eyes, and Stiles must as well; he sees his son gaze sympathetically in her direction - no, _empathetically,_ he knows this feeling Noah can tell, and  _god_ if only these kids could have psychiatrists without immediately getting sentenced to Eichen house, they need to deal with this shit (again, he doesn't normally swear; extenuating circumstances) - and Stiles brushes a thumb, lightly, against her hand and the tension loosens, and Noah can't think of this as healthy, not truly, not a permanently good thing. 

(He thinks if someone got used to it enough; their pain being taken away, he thinks it could get addictive. He's seen it before, just not with supernatural tones. He feels like he's looking at living, breathing drug metaphors - because people use drugs to relieve pain and forget their life for a short while; at least the ones who take them for a reason - and as a sheriff, he hates that utterly.)

Noah has no idea what to say, so he doesn't say a single word. This girl isn't his, he doesn't know her, not really. She's a werecoyote who's dating his son - but they don't know each other personally. 

"Emotional pain is the kind that lasts, and its the kind werewolves can't take." She says. Scott, Noah thinks, would hate that he couldn't help his friends - but Noah is relieved at that when he knows he shouldn't be. 

Noah would give up his job and his respect to save his son, he'd give his  _life,_ but he'd keep his job to save his son too - so he doesn't know what to do about this. 

"I can give some of my energy up to help another," Stiles says, quietly, trying to move the conversation on, that previous line deader than a doornail. 

(It's deader than dead people. That's what it's about, after all, and they all have skeletons in their closets, even if Noah didn't personally put his in there.) 

Noah nods, still at a loss for words - because he's still thinking of that whole drug metaphor thing that he shouldn't be thinking of because it's not that at all, however that doesn't seem to matter to him, and the Sheriff is... incredibly conflicted.

Because, in this, there's nothing to save Stiles from. Not himself, not an outside force, not another possession. This is a part of Stiles, now - and Noah needs to find a way to accept that before things end up inevitably going south. 

Malia frowns at him, and stiles shifts, uncomfortable, nervous - very, very guilty, and Noah can't tell  _why._

Malia speaks up, blunt as ever and he thinks that to be a trait she gained from being a coyote for so long. That animal rarely hides it's intentions, after all. 

"There is some other stuff the nogitsune left behind in this clone as a last 'fuck you' to us all." She says, and Stiles grimaces, flicks his eyes and mutters,  _"Adult, Malia, **adult,"**_ and she sighs, nods, shrugs. 

She won't swear in front of him again, Noah knows. not at that strength, at least. It's not like Stiles hasn't said the occasional 'crap' within earshot, after all. 

Continuing, Malia explains what else was left that Noah will have to add to an entirely new list. 

"Empathy." She breaks out with, and, well,  _crap._ He knows, vaguely, what that's about from overheard conversations and a few books and things. Noah knows it isn't usually a good thing, but it varies on safety and usefulness. He hopes its as safe and as useless as possible if only so Stiles doesn't have to deal with other people's emotions and can honestly just ignore it. 

Stiles looks at him. "I can tell exactly what a person's feeling; how it feels to me varies. I can also tell why they feel that, and, theoretically, I should also be able to..." Stiles pauses, Malia tightens her grip and it's  _Stiles_ who straightens. "To alter it, slightly. Influence and warp and  _change,_ permanently." 

This is what Noah was afraid of when he'd heard Malia say  _empathy._ The least safe, because he knows from old cases such power is intoxicating to most (though he hopes not to Stiles) and useful because, well, there's no way anyone's hiding anything from Stiles, now - and Stiles generally is far too nosy for anyone's good. 

"I would never try." Stiles insists, grave - hurt, too, Noah can see this, but he's helpless to explain he  _knows,_ knows that truly he does, but the empathy only explains why he feels the fear but not why it's only a slight amount. That, in part, is why this Empathy is dangerous, and so the Sheriff adds this, underlined, to his mental worries list. 

"I know," Noah says, believes utterly, so his son relaxes, slightly - and Noah wonders if Stiles is affected by other people's feelings, if Stiles' own emotions affect others in positive and or negative ways. 

(Legally - literally; as in, during Law-based situations - 'and or' isn't really accepted. Therefore, he doesn't use it often, having trained himself not to, but Noah thinks this situation calls for it in the way that comes from the fact that he can't seem to phrase his wondering differently, without it coming across in a manner that he doesn't mean.)

"When I have enough... energy-" And here, his son avoids (glaringly, obviously avoids) using  _food, 'when I've fed, eaten enough'_ \- because that just sounds... wrong, to Noah, so he thinks that it would sound the same to Stiles, "-I have a bit more strength than before, but only in certain situations." He shrugs. "Most things only happen in certain situations, but empathy and pain-drain are constants," Stiles admits, and Noah wonders what those most things are. "Well." Stiles backtracks, seemingly thinking of something that had happened before. "Empathy can stop working if I don't have enough energy as like, an area of effect thing. It's constant, but only as contact. I have to have had enough energy for it to be area of effect... it's kind of how I gauge the amount of energy I have. So I make sure I have enough for empathy because less tends to make me lethargic and look..."

 _Like I'm dying,_ goes unsaid, but Noah can see it in his eyes and hear it in Malia's held-back speech - stopped with a reprimanding slight tightening of stiles' grip. (But no vein-darkening, thankfully.) 

Stiles is looking far healthier than he did at the start of the conversation, Noah is noticing, but nowhere near perfect health. Less pale, sure, eyes less baggy, less sunken, lips less chapped. Malia is looking more at ease, of course she is, but no more than that - perhaps a slight straightening of the shoulders seen in both of them, Noah notes, but she gets little physical help from this. His son's is far more evident, physically; as described previously - but little increments here and there are getting better every few moments or so that Noah doesn't pay close attention during.

But yes; Stiles looks healthier - he'll give it that, but he still doesn't look _good_. Noah would reprimand himself for not noticing until now, if he didn't have a few months of his son looking so close to death that anything else would seem like the height of healthiness in comparison.

The pain-transfer-transaction is still going, and Noah isn't sure it'll stop until Malia lets it or Stiles forces it to, and so he looks everywhere else, because his son, his  _human_ son, is doing something no human has any business doing, and if there was one thing he'd hoped it was that Stiles stayed as human as he'd always been, right up until he died long into the future as an old man, surrounded by friends and family. 

Stiles seems to sense this, and Noah curses himself because, as much as it's not exactly comfortable for him to see this happening, Stiles does need this... thing, and the Sheriff doesn't want to be the reason his son practically  _starves_ himself.  

Malia tightens her already white-knuckled grip, and Noah worries she's forgotten the fragility of human bone already because the full strength of a werecoyote should break a human's hand, no matter the difference in visible strength and size of the other person involved. 

(The people who think his son is weak are generally thought of as idiots by the Sheriff's department. He's broken far too many heavy objects that he has no right to be able to break at the age he was at when he broke the objects for them to think he's  _not_ strong. It's just a deceptive thing, his son's strength - and that helps, Noah thinks, because it means people underestimate him.)

(The first time he pulled over the vending machine when a packet got stuck (fourteen years old, yelping when it happened and sweating slightly when Noah found him after hearing said noise) was not the last, let that be said - but it did get some betting pools given out to the winners and carefully, deliberately ignored by the Sheriff, because really, it wasn't doing any harm.)

However, of course, she doesn't break his hand - Noah can't this time rationalise stiles' strength and resilience and has to admit  _something_ is up with that, because no human has any right to be able to stand up against the fully exerted strength of a supernatural being. 

Stiles doesn't move after that - perhaps understanding Malia wouldn't let him remove his hand unless he wanted to break hers to do it, and Noah knows he would never, so Stiles stays still. Sighing, Stiles looks over to the Sheriff, and Noah nods, stiles slumps (relieved, accepting) and nods to his Dad. 

Smiling, Noah nods to the clock. "School starts soon." He says, and with a quiet 'crap' that he ignores as he's always done (and a petulant  _'oh, so you can'_ from Malia along with Stiles' retorted  _'crap is fine; you just can't swear strongly in front of adults or at all in front of teachers'_ he lectures, teaching absently and Malia takes this in, registers and records and will never not take Stiles' lessons on human behaviour seriously, Noah knows.) the two leave the room, hurried slightly but in no rush - Noah would reprimand that they'd be late, but truly Stiles shouldn't even be in school today, so the Sheriff will let them off this time - and Noah hears, a little time later, the jeep revving and then speeding off at exactly the legal limit.

(Mentally, Noah sighs, because his son really does like to test his limits with certain aspects of the law a little too much, and hopes that he won't need to write off another ticket of some form.) 

Noah cracks his neck and nods to himself, because in all honesty that went surprisingly well, considering it was a talk between himself, his son, his son's girlfriend and was about a fair few dark topics he knows the three of them would rather leave well alone. 

Finishing off his sandwich, mentally grimacing at the  _salad_ but knowing Stiles was only looking out for his health (because in a world where Stiles' mother is dead and people are dropping left and right from supernatural causes, Stiles couldn't deal with his dad's death simply because of something as easily controllable as diet, Noah knows so he accepts it, easily - though with the semi-pretence of reluctance), the Sheriff tidies up the plates by putting them in the sink (planning to wash them later, but knowing they'd be back in the cupboards by the time he got home regardless) and left the house, grabbing his keys and his jacket along the way. Noah entered his car, and drove to the station, ready for another day wondering if the next case would be something his son and the rest of the teenagers (and perhaps Parrish; it was no coincidence Jordan came to this town, after all) would handle better than he could. 

That happened more often than not, these days. He's proud to say (even though he really shouldn't need to be) that he doesn't need a drink at that thought. 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> 5300 word chapter whoop- (my chapters have not been consistently long for this and I apologise)


End file.
